


I've Got Your Back

by rayneworld



Series: Another Day AU [5]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Anxiety, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insomnia, Night Terrors, Nightmares, POV Second Person, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayneworld/pseuds/rayneworld
Summary: The Afton and Emily kids have problems following them from their traumatic pasts. However, they went through similar experiences and have an understanding for each other's pain. A four part installment from each of their point of views as time passes.





	1. Micheal POV

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this chapter to my scrapped works at a preview, but I actually proofread it this time lol.

The still, dark house is pieced with sudden, frightful screaming. You jerk from your half asleep state, swinging your head to your right, where the sound is coming from. From the dim light of the TV, you can see Sammy sitting up in your twin bed, purple comforter tossed aside. He stares wide eyed into the dark, panting heavily. 

You close your eyes and rub them, hard, trying to wipe sleep from them and erase your confusion. You know what’s happening, but you can’t remember at the moment - but you do know! You know, because you’re not concerned that Sammy is screaming. You’re alarmed, sure, but you feel like this is  _ normal  _ somehow. But you can’t quite place what’s happening yet - your mind is still covered in fog, preventing you from remembering who you are, or what you’re doing, or what you’re _ supposed _ to do.

Sammy lets out another scream, and this time it startles you fully awake. Your first instinct is to move towards him, to console him, but you know he won’t let you. He’s almost like someone else when he gets like this. Regardless, you throw the blankets covering you off the couch sloppily onto your floor in front of your PS4. You step over to your bed, crouched, and as you do so Sammy pays no attention to you. 

“Sammy?” you whisper loudly.

He doesn’t turn, and instead pulls his legs up to his chest and tucks his tear stained face in. He rocks back and forth, letting out a sob. You can’t remember whether or not you’re supposed to touch him, but you hate just sitting here and watching him suffer through this. Before you can decide whether or not to advance, you hear the door across from your room swing open, loud and rickety. Within seconds, yours door opens as well, and a small figure dashes to your bed, nearly tripping over the blankets on the floor. The figure ignores you and ethereally hops onto the bed, weight hardly enough to make a recess in the mattress. It embraces Sammy, nearly tackling him over.

“Sammy? It’s okay, it’s me - it’s okay,” Charlie hushes to her brother. 

He suddenly uncurls, laying on his back and kicking out his legs, thrashing. You hear him scream again, and see a fist fly out towards his sister. Your heart skips a beat, but Charlie quickly ducks to the side, evading it. She grabs at his arms, trying to pin them down. 

“Sammy, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” she continues to soothe, despite his flailing, “no one is going to hurt you. You’re here, it’s okay-”

He kicks out uncoordinated, bawling. Charlie stays above his chest, and angles her lower body away from him to avoid being hit. She pushes his arm to his chest with her own scarred ones, and you try not to stare. You remain sitting next to your bed, now overtaken by the twins, and hesitantly reach out a hand and place it on Sammy’s arm. You rub his shoulder while Charlie murmurs to him in a soft voice, trying to get him to calm down. He gives up struggling in place of crying, but remains equally inconsolable. 

A footstep sounds outside your room, and you turn and see Elizabeth standing in your doorway. She’s wearing pink kitty-cat pajama pants that she’s long outgrown, and an oversized Coca-Cola T-shirt. She appears expressionless, but tired, and more than likely followed Charlie to your room after hearing the screaming. She creeps in silently and sits on your couch, trying not to disturb the situation. She sits awkwardly, like she doesn’t quite belong here. She tucks her legs under her and grabs the blanket you threw on the floor, wrapping it around herself, watching.

Sammy still wails, and you silently pray your dad doesn’t wake up. His room is pretty soundproof, unlike up here, but you  _ are _ directly above him. You don’t think he’d bother checking on you if he did wake, but you still don’t want to give him any fuel to use against you or your family.

Family - you, Elizabeth, Sammy, and Charlie. Not all blood related, but bound by circumstances and emotion: grief and love and rage and fear. All tied together by the worst man in the world - your father - but the four of you find love each for each other anyhow. Familial love, and you’d protect each person in this room with your life. You squeeze Sammy’s arm and press your head into the sheets, letting Charlie continue to futilely console him.

Night terrors - he always has had these, ever since he was little. No, maybe... that’s wrong - ever since your dad murdered Charlie and he was left on his own. Especially leading up to his first birthday alone, and always afterwards. Being bitten did something to him, you suspect. During his dreams, he’s plagued by what he calls the Nightmares, but every so often he falls into a schizophrenic episode and sees them as well. They sound terrifying from what he’s described - rows and rows of sharp teeth, glowing red eyes, dangerous claws, and even hellish stomach mouths, all on animatronics. He says they’re not your friends - they’re not Cassidy and Fritz and Gabriel, but they are a _ version  _ of Fredbear and Foxy and the others, like the Toy or Funtime models. You’re almost certain they don’t exist, despite all the weird shit you’ve gone though, but they’re real to him, so you guard him from them anyways. 

They sound a bit like the ghostly animatronics you hallucinated when you worked at Fazbear’s Fright. However, you only hallucinated those because the working conditions were so bad - you’re mental health was fine. Well, relatively fine, you don’t have schizophrenia like Sammy does, or manic episodes like Charlie. Sometimes if you’re really stressed you’ll have nightmares about the Phantoms, but nothing like the night terrors Sammy experiences. 

Sammy doesn’t have night terrors often enough for them to be a problem, but he still has them, and you’ve gone through this with him a few times now. Charlie is usually there like she is now, trying to calm him, though her efforts are usually in vain. You know by now that he can’t be soothed during these, but Charlie continues to try anyways, and you can’t exactly blame her. You feel so useless sitting here doing nothing, but getting any more involved might lead to you getting pummeled by Sammy. You swear, that boy can’t beat you in a wakeful wrestling match to save his life, but when he’s asleep he’ll kick the daylights out of you. You know Charlie’s been socked more than a couple times doing this, still, she persists. 

After a few agonizing minutes of sobbing pass, Sammy begins to calm down and goes limp, apparently back to sleep. You can’t get used to that part - that he just goes back to sleep, like none of this happened. Hell, he won’t even remember this in the morning. Charlie releases his hands, and curls up next to him, rubbing his head, trying to help. You see sweat stuck to his face still, and realize you’ll probably have to wash your sheets in the morning. After a bit, Charlie slowly sits up and looks at you, unsure what to do. 

“I can stay with him,” you offer, “you can go back with Liz.”

You know Sammy hates sleeping alone, and you’re willing to stay with him so she go be with her girlfriend. If she insists, you don’t mind sleeping on the couch in your room, which you were planning on doing anyways. 

She looks back to Sammy, then at you again, before nodding. She slides off your bed and you take her place next to Sammy. Your bed isn’t really big enough for both of you, but you’ll manage - you have before. You carefully lift him over so he’s nearer to the wall, clearing space for you. You grab your comforter that’s bunched up at the foot of your bed and straighten it out over the two of you. 

Charlie walks over to Liz, nudging her, and she blinks open her sleepy eyes. She’s reluctant to leave the warmth of the blanket, but eventually stands up with some silent persuasion from Charlie. As she stands, the remotes falls to the floor, and she idly looks at it for a second before picking it up.

“Want me to turn your TV off?” she asks.

“Yes, please,” you say. You don’t feel like having reruns of the The Immortal and the Restless playing as background noise right now. You like the TV as white noise, but Sammy prefers the sound of a fan. You know that won’t matter, since he’s unconscious, but regardless, you click your tiny desk fan on as Elizabeth turns off your TV. Your room vanishes in the dark, and you hear Charlie and Elizabeth stumble their way back to Elizabeth’s room, shutting the door behind them. You know you should get up and lock your door incase your dad wants to start trouble in the morning, but you can’t be bothered to and decide to take the risk. 

You sigh and cozy down, pressing against Sammy, partial for comfort, partial because you don’t have a choice. You’re not sure whether or not it’s considered “manly” to snuggle with another guy, but you don’t really care. You have to guard Sammy, whether it be from the hallucinations his mind creates, or physical threats like your dad. You owe that much to him. You owe it to him, to everyone, to make up for the injustices your dad has done to them. You have to stay vigilant and guard them through the night. 


	2. Sammy POV

You walk the back halls of Freddy’s. It’s late and the place is closed, but sometimes you and your family stay after to take care of paperwork and clean. Sometimes the former animatronics stay after with you, but that’s not a guarantee. You don’t feel like doing work, and you know there’s no real consequence for not doing it. There would be if you pulled this all the time and slacked in everything else, but you know how the system works, and as long as you help out with something else later you’ll be fine. 

You swing by the office as you’re walking, and see Micheal in it. You reach a hand in the door and knock to grab his attention before coming in. He looks up from the desk, which has papers scattered about it. On the monitor, Helpy sits, lifeless as always. Micheal always keeps him in the office for good luck. 

“I think this is one of the first times the person entering my office isn’t a bloodthirsty animatronic,” he jokes.

You forcibly exhale through your nose. You wonder what your strategy would be if you were an animatronic. Maybe it’s not even up to you, but the animatronic you’d possess. You know your friends claim they have the animatronic’s personalities fused into their own. It’s practically indistinguishable what traits are them and what traits came from the personality Henry gave each of his creations. You feel like _ you _ can pick them apart fairly easy, but that’s missing the point. They’re not one or the other - they’re both, and they’re happy with it. Or at least content with it, depending on who you ask. 

Except for Springtrap, but that’s a different situation.

“They’re not bloodthirsty,” you dispute.

“You’re right. I mean, there were plenty of times where they wanted to kill me. But it didn’t take long before I befriended them and they’d knock to come in and chat.”

“It’s… hard to imagine they ever tried to kill you. I’ve never seen them do anything but defend you. I mean, I’m sure they did, I’m not trying to argue that,” you rush, “but it’s odd to think about. They’re our friends.”

Mike lets out a deep breath, “yeah, I don’t blame them at all though. They thought I was my dad. I’d want to kill me too, if I was them.”

You move over a few bobbleheads and sit on top of the desk. You know what he said is not entirely true - only the Classics thought that. The situation with the Funtimes was… complicated to say the least, and you’re still not sure you entirely understand. A lot of manipulation went on and it ended with Micheal being used as skin. The Toys thought of it as more of a game than anything else. And Charlie and Cassidy… you know your sister knew he wasn’t William, but that didn’t stop her from joining them. Perhaps Cassidy was distrustful as well?

“They didn’t even seem that aggressive towards your dad when we started the pizzeria back up. They were weary, sure, but…”

“Because I was stupid and defended him,” Mike sighs and puts his head in his hands, “I thought maybe my dad would still change after everything. I knew he wouldn’t, but I guess even after everything I still hoped he would. Maybe almost burning alive - well, sort of alive - impaired my judgement. But I thought maybe that had changed him, too - made him wake up.”

“He’s irredeemable.”

“Well, _ now _I’m 120% sure of that, that’s the thing I’m surest about in my life, but I didn’t know before.”

You shrug and stay silent. It seemed so incredibly obvious to you that William hadn’t changed, that he was going to continue to abuse his children - but they needed to learn that on their own. You pressing the situation might have made the whole thing backfire. Micheal was different a month ago. A month ago when he and Elizabeth finally decided they’d had enough and went to your dad for help. It was messy, really messy, but William isn’t allowed in your town anymore. You wanted to press charges for the murders as well, but how do you get someone who’s supposed to be dead behind bars? But a restraining order did the trick - for now, at least.

Micheal is better now, you think, after just a month him and his sister are both so much better. It’s like they’ve been breathing in smog their whole lives, and finally moved to somewhere with clear, fresh air. 

“What are you doing here anyways, Sammy? Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the dining area?” Micheal asks.

“Didn’t want to. So now I’m bothering you. What are you doing?”

“_ God you’re just like your sister, _” Mike hisses under his breath, before answering, “Billing. We’re behind now that my dad’s not here. Not that I want him here, but he always handled all of this. I’m not as fast as him, and I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

“We’d still rather have you,” you say, giving a small smile.

“I feel like that’s not even a fair competition, but thanks,” he dismisses. Despite this, you notice him ever so slightly sit taller, and his lips almost twitch up. He appreciated it anyways. “If you’re in here, though, I’m gonna make you help.”

“Depends what it is,” you smile.

“Scheduling for next week. I jotted down what days people need off on some sticky notes. Oh, and what days people are absolutely needed for a birthday performance are filled in. It’s not that bad - I’d rather do that - but takes time.”

“It’s hard to coordinate 20 people,” you agree. Micheal hands you a clipboard and you take it from him, beginning to study it. There’s many notes on like, “Funtime Foxy has a manicure appointment on Thursday from 2:00-3:00,” that you have to work around. You wonder if some of the appointments booked in the middle of the day were purposely scheduled so that they could skip work. You suddenly feel very powerful, knowing everyone’s activities for the week. Jeremy’s going to a concert Saturday night, so he’s requested to leave early, along with Fritz, who is going with him. Cassidy is going to a reptile show around noon on Sunday. The Toys want Wednesday off so they can go to a baseball game... 

You kind of realize how lonely you are, seeing everything that everyone else is doing. You don’t particularly want to go with them, though. You enjoy being alone. Just getting together with your friends at work or calling on voice chat at night is enough for you. You don’t go to hangouts unless Charlie makes you, and you don’t invite anyone over. Your twin says you should, but you don’t see the point. You’re not unhappy, and everyone else has someone else to be with. 

“How late do you think you’ll stay here?” you ask Micheal as you scribble down Funtime Freddy’s schedule. 

Mike shifts in his seat, before mumbling, “I was kind of planning to pull an all nighter and get all of this done.”

“So I can’t hitch a ride back with you?”

“Not unless you want to sleep on the floor.”

You shrug.

“I was joking, Sammy, you’re going back home with your dad after they finish cleaning.”

“Didn’t you stay up all night last night too?”

“I slept,” Micheal says, twisting his lips. After a second he adds, “for two hours.”

“Better than nothing,” you sigh, not wanting to argue, “but you should try to sleep more or you’ll go bonkers like me.”

“Please,” he chuckles, “you’re not my mom.”

“Thank God,” you reply.

“She’s not that bad.”

“Compared to your dad, anyone is endlessly preferable.”

“She raised me alright.”

“Debatable,” you tease.

“Like your mom was any better.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Your conversation isn’t aggressive. If Micheal wanted you to back off or vise versa, you would. Your moms were… not the best people, and can be a sore subject. However, you prefer to make light of it and joke, rather than push it down to be something you never talk about. You’re glad you have something to bond over, something you both understand, even if you wish he didn’t have to go through it as well.

Maybe the experiences you and Micheal have had are more fucked up than you realize. You died too early, or too late, and didn’t get a vessel. Your time between living and not feels like a blank void. You came back missing so much, but for some reason _ you just don’t care _. Maybe you feel little pinpricks of jealousy here and there, but it’s like there’s an emptiness in you preventing you from feeling anything about it. It’s not like what you missed was peaches and cream, anyways. 

However, Micheal was unlucky enough to bear trauma, having survived. Micheal went with his mom after his dad left, but was never able to discuss what happened, or talk about his missing sister. You think if you were him, you’d come back to Hurricane, back to Freddy’s, too, looking for answers. Even if you weren’t part of the events that followed, you’re glad Micheal came back and was able to befriend the murder victims. 

You tap your pen on the clipboard and ask,“if I help you till my dad leaves, will you come home with us?”

Micheal shakes his head, “there’s too much, I won’t be done by then.”

“Then I’ll stay a few extra hours and help you. We can go home together, and you can actually get some sleep.”

“Sammy, you don’t need to do that.”

“I know.”

Micheal frowns at you, frustrated. He doesn’t want to accept help. He thinks he needs to do everything on his own and has high expectations for himself. It’s not bad to try and achieve things, and set goals, but Mike always sets his so impossibly high he can never reach them - even if he’s over six foot. 

“Would you even get everything done if you stayed up all night anyways?” you question. When he doesn’t reply, and just runs a hand down his face, you suggest, “set a time and how much you want to get done - I’ll help you with it. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“I want to get all of it done by tomorrow morning,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You sounds like you’re five.”

“And you sound like my therapist!” 

“It’s because I’m right, and I’ll keep pestering you until you listen, too.”

“That makes you more like a little brother,” he rolls his eyes. After a second he adds, “that’s fine, I guess.”

“Me being a little brother, or me helping you so you can go to bed at a decent hour?”

Micheal rolls his chair so he’s not facing you, and lets out a long, “hmmm,” before answering, “both.”

You fist pump, cheering, “yes!”

“Don’t press it or you’ll make me change my mind.” 

“Alright, alright,” you hold up your hands. He moves back to his papers on the desk. 

“You finished with that schedule yet?” That’s his warning to get back to it.

“Working on it right now,” you say doing so. 

One more small victory toward the road of recovery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact, I wrote this one last and took the longest on it because I didn't have many ideas lol. Not sure how it turned out, hope it wasn't boring to read!


	3. Charlie POV

Elizabeth drops behind the prize counter, and you can still hear a smack ringing through the pizzeria. You stare in horror out into the dining area where a woman just slapped her three-year old son for cussing, and he’s broken out into tears. You’re not sure if you should intervene, or comfort your girlfriend on the ground, who’s now ducked under the counter out of sight. What should you even say? You hate talking, and coming out and lecturing a mom on how to parent would cause a fuss. She’s yelling at him now, and while you’re still debating, Cassidy storms in from the arcade, snarling.

“We don’t hit kids on our premises,” the Native girl growls. She’s only a bit taller than the mom, but looms over her regardless. She has a look that can kill, and her hands swing in exaggerated motions when she speaks. You know better than to mess with Cassidy.  _ Everyone _ knows better than to mess with Cassidy. Even your dad, who owns the place, tries not to get on her bad side. He doesn’t fear her or hate her, but he always takes what she says into consideration. Though, he does get a bit frustrated when he receives complaints from customers when she loses her temper, like she’s doing right now. 

“Excuse me?” the mom huffs, furious, “are you trying to tell me how to parent? I have two kids, and it looks to me that you have zero. I know what I’m doing.”

“Are you  _ serious _ , I work at a kid’s pizzeria, I  _ guarantee _ -”

“Woah, woah, woah,” a big, black man comes rushing in, “hey, hello, sorry about that. I’m Gabriel, I’m sorry my  _ coworker _ here-”

You stop listening and duck under the prize counter. Cassidy doesn’t have the charisma that Gabriel does, and he’ll balance her out. She always comes out with the cold, hard truth, which isn’t always the right approach. You know this song and dance. He’ll apologize, Cassidy will stand there silently seething and glaring daggers, then once Gabe is seemingly on the mom’s side, he’ll go back to what Cassidy was originally saying and rip her a new one in a much smoother manner that involves a lot less yelling. 

Meanwhile, Elizabeth has her back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest, and she shakes slightly. You sit next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She fumbles to grab your other hand in her own trembling ones. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, “that shouldn’t have happened, that was bad parenting.”

“People shouldn’t hit their kids,” Elizabeth chokes out, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. 

“I know, I know, it’s okay. Cassidy and Gabriel are on it,” you sooth, hearing their bickering. “I’m here.”

Elizabeth tries to reach to pull you into a hug, but is faltering, so you end up pushing yourself clumsily into her arms, half sitting on her lap. She buries her head into your shoulder and you hear her sniff loudly, trying not to cry. You have your arms wrapped around her back, and rub circles between her shoulder blades. Unlike you, Elizabeth has always been more touchy-feely. She’s always wanted attention and comfort when she feels bad, and until recently, you’d rather be left alone when you’re sad or panicked. You’ve opened up a lot more, and you’re pretty proud of yourself for making that progress. You think maybe you were a bit touch starved and didn’t realize it. But, you didn’t do it for yourself, you did it so you can be better for Elizabeth when she needs you, like she does now. 

“He probably doesn’t know what he did wrong,” she mumbles through your hair, “he’s probably hurt and scared and ashamed and he doesn’t understand  _ what he did wrong. _ ”

“It’s okay, they’re handling it,” you murmur, “I know it looks bad, but we don’t know how far it goes. It’s probably just bad parenting. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”  _ I’m sure he’s not being abused. _ “You’re okay, Liz, I’ve got you.”

You’re glad the commotion is steering people away from the prize counter. You don’t want to leave her for a single second, and want to get her to the back rooms away from everything without being noticed. The prize counter has always been your safe place, but you know she’d be more comfortable back there. The only reason she’s up here to begin with is to hang out with you. You’re worried about her, and you know she’ll be fine, but it doesn’t stop your concern. But you’re not just worried. You’re angry, you’re pissed, and you want her dad to pay for hurting her so badly. You’re dad was never a shining perfect father, but he’s infinitely preferable to William Afton. You can’t imagine your dad,  _ any  _ dad, beating their child that they’re supposed to love and nurture. And you  _ know  _ that’s what’s racing through her head right now, how could she possibly be thinking of anything else when that’s all she’s known? You don’t think she realized what was happening to her wasn’t normal, not really, not until she met the other Funtimes. And even after she realized, it was near impossible for her to break out of the abusive trap she was caught in. 

“Wanna go to the employees only rooms?” you suggest, getting up and tugging on her hands, “come on, let’s go.” 

You shift out from under the counter, staying low and out of view - not that it really matters. Liz peeks out at the dining area with wide, teary eyes, and you see her mascara running down her cheeks. 

“Mrs., please lower your voice, you’re creating a scene in my pizzeria,” Gabriel says icily. Oh man, he pulled out the “my pizzeria” card. You and your friends know it’s not really his, even if it’s called “Freddy’s”, but none of you complain when he uses it in a situation like this. 

“ _ I’m  _ creating a scene!?  _ You’re- _ ”

“ _ I asked you to please lower your voice _ ,” he states loudly over her. Everything he says is polite, but there’s a threat behind it. “I already explained our rules here, and we ask that you obey them, or we’ll have to ask you to leave. I already told you the consequences of raising kids with violence, as well as our policy towards it. I might suggest talking with your child to-”

“No, no no no, don’t bother, we’re leaving. Noah, go find your brother, we’re getting out of here.”

“B-but I didn’t finish using my t-tokens.”

“ _ Now _ ,” the lady snaps at her child, and he runs off. She turns back towards Gabriel and Cassidy. “You’ll be receiving a complaint and bad review from me, as well as-”

“ _ Good riddance! _ Get off my land,” Cassidy hollers. 

Gabriel’s calm composure breaks, and he almost barrels over in laughter. Instead, he lets out a loud, “PFFFF,” and puts his hands on his knees like her words just shot him. Cassidy laughs lightly at his response, but she’s still fuming, and her snickering sounds more dangerous than it should. 

The lady doesn’t seem to understand the joke, and lets out a loud, “hmph!” before turning around, her hair flying out behind her as she goes to look for her kids. 

While the commotion is still going on, you try to stay along the outskirts of the room till you can reach the back rooms. Elizabeth is at your side, and you have a hand wrapped protectively around her. She keeps her head low, long hair hiding most her face. She presses against you as much as she can without knocking you over, keeping an arm around your shoulder. You catch Cassidy’s eye before making it, but otherwise stay unnoticed besides a few indifferent glances. Once you enter the employees only area, you lead her into a supply closet and close the door behind you, taking a deep breath. You enjoy the sudden quiet, leaving the noisy children behind. Elizabeth lets go of you and walks over to a rather large box and pushes on the top of it, testing to see how sturdy it is. It makes the cut, and she sits on it with her legs touching the floor and her head in her hands. You crouch beside her and put a hand on her thigh. She peeks at you through her fingers.

“Sorry, I’m pathetic,” she mumbles through her hands so you can barely make it out.

“What? No! You’re not,” you press against her, “that was anxiety-inducing for people who haven’t been abused. You have every right to be unsettled.”

“It’s still embarrassing,” she says, wiping her face and smearing make-up.

“Your mascara is running, Lizzie.”

She turns her hand over and looks at the black smudges on it. 

“Fuck,” she curses, then uses a thumb to wipe a bit from under her eyes. “Ugh, it’s whatever. I’ll wash up before we go back out. I just need a minute.”

“Take however long you need, there’s no rush.”

“Yeah, until kids want to exchange tickets are you’re not there.”

“The others will figure it out. Or kids will steal from us. Either way works.”

Elizabeth smiles faintly at you, and you wrap your other arm around her back and tilt your head onto her shoulder. She leans her head down onto yours. 

“Did anyone see us?” she murmurs. 

“Hmmm. Cassidy, I think, but she won’t say anything. No one else noticed we left, though.”

Elizabeth sniffs, “yeah, that’s fine. She won’t be a dick about it, and she already knows, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She sighs, “about what? How my dad never loved me?”

You squeeze her leg. “Liz.”

She’s silent for a heartbeat before saying, “I just, I dunno, it’s scary to be in that situation, and it’s scary to see it happen to others. Even if it’s like, not as severe, or whatever. I guess I felt really helpless when he hit me. When I got older I could fight back, and sometimes I did, but I still never really wanted to hurt him. Even if he had no problems hurting me. And Micheal.”

You move your hand to run it through her hair, brushing it with your fingers. You’ve noticed that she likes physical contact in situations like this - not just hearing your words. She isn’t scared anymore, but she’s bitter, and tears idly leak from her eyes as she stares at nothing. You softly plant a kiss on her shoulder, and she blinks, coming out of her thoughts. She presses her lips to the top of your head and you hum, nuzzling into her arm. 

“I’m always here for you,” you whisper, “I’ll protect you.”

Elizabeth laughs, “Charlie, you’re less than five feet tall, I think I’ll be the one protecting you.”

“Doesn’t matter! It can go both ways. I protect you, and you protect me.”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say.”

“I’ll protect you from your shitty feelings.”

“I  _ guess _ ,” she sighs dramatically and stands up, “we should probably get back to our station before we’re missed too much. You know how lovable we are.”

“Yeah, sure, it’s not that kids are just excited to get prizes. That’s like saying the pizza delivery guy is lovable.”

“Maybe for you, but I don’t even work at the prize counter, so boom.”

“Yeah you  _ scare _ away all the kids because you’re so _ tall. _ ”

“I’m the same height as Cassidy.”

“Who is  _ tall! _ ”

Elizabeth grabs your hands and pulls you off the box. “Sure, tiny, now come with me to the bathroom to wash up.”

“Alright, alright,” you say and let her tug you along. 

You hold hands as you make your way down the hall. Elizabeth seems better, she just needed a quiet moment. You hate that William scarred her to the point where bad parenting freaks her out. Not every parent that comes into Freddy’s is good, and you’ve noticed that even little things like yelling at children can grab her attention and ruin her mood. She’s usually fearless, but this is the one thing that really rattles her. It’s not unlike her to become angry - but never scared. You don’t think there’s many other people she’d let see her in that state. If something has her emotional, she’d rather storm out than let you see her weak. But you’ve never thought of her as weak. She’s been through hell and back, and she’s still fighting - always fighting for what she believes in. You know she’s not as confident as she appears, but you think that’s just something else to be admired. Of course she’s not perfect, but she tries harder than anyone you know. With time, you think she’ll heal from the wounds her father created. She’s already started. 


	4. Elizabeth's POV

A shrill cry startles you from your dreams. It’s okay - you don’t remember your dreams in detail anyways. But the screech you just heard sends your heart racing. It’s Charlie, laying right next to you, propped up on her elbows. She stares into the darkness of your room, sweating and breathing rapidly. You hate the sound that just came from her, and the fear on her face doesn’t suit her. 

“Hey,” you croak out. You were trying to sound soothing - just trying to get Charlie’s attention - but it came out garbled. Regardless, she snaps towards you, eyes wide and flicking back and forth, like she’s searching for something. You slowly reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, testing whether or not she’s okay with physical contact. When she doesn’t flinch away, you lean over and wrap your freckled arms around her fragile frame. She hurriedly buries her face into your chest and you can hear her trying to hold back whimpers. 

“It’s okay, I’m here, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” you whisper to her, “Breathe. No one is going to hurt you. You were just dreaming, I’m here now, I’m real. Focus on what’s real and breathe.”

You can feel her heart beating wildly against you as she takes short, shallow breaths. With your instruction, you can feel her try to fight it, trying to control each breath of air that fills her lungs. You rub circles into her back and hold her close, but try to give her enough room so you’re not smothering her. 

You want to stop the panic attack before it happens. She usually doesn’t wake up with panic attacks, though it has happened a few times. She’s been having them less and less, which you’re grateful for - they really exhaust her. Right now she probably had a nightmare that will lead to one if you don’t calm her down. You’re better at keeping your cool now - it was absolutely terrifying to see the first time. You’ve been through enough with her to know what to do, but it still unnerves you to see her in that state. 

You’re trying to get her to focus, but you’re having a hard time concentrating as well. The clock on your nightstand reads 4:27, and all you want to do is fall back asleep. The two of you went to bed mere hours ago, since you’re both night owls. Or rather, you’re a night owl, and Charlie’s sleep schedule is all over the place. She tends to go from sleeping way too much to not sleeping at all, though admittedly she’s gotten better in recent months. Sleep claws at you and threatens to drag you back under, but it won’t succeed. You won’t be able to sleep knowing Charlie is like this. Even if she had said she was okay and went into a different room before breaking down - like she has in the past - it won’t allow you to sleep. You just  _ can’t  _ when you know she’s suffering. 

“Do you want me to do breathing exercises with you?” you murmur. You shouldn’t ask - should just take charge and state what you’re doing and start counting - but you forgot to, your mind isn’t thinking very clearly either. You think you feel her nod against you, so you begin counting. After a few minutes you break off into a yawn, then quickly apologize. She lets out a small, sharp laugh. 

Slowly Charlie’s muscles relax and you loosely hang onto her, fingers still trailing along her spine. You can feel the warmth of her breath on your neck, now rhythmic and steady. You hum and kiss the top of her head, and she snuggles closer to you.

“Bad dream?” you ask.

“Mmmm. Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it? You don’t have to.” Honestly, you’re curious as to what it was about. Her nightmares come in a variety of things, and each seems to have something to do with what she’s currently afraid of. If you know what’s bothering her, you can better protect her from it. At least, that’s what you tell yourself - but maybe you’re just being selfish in wanting to know her torments are for yourself. But you’d tell her yours if she asked, so maybe it’s not greedy of you. You don’t really know - you’ve never had a good sense of the lines between protective and manipulative. But you think you’re seeing them clearer now that you’ve been receiving therapy for your BPD. 

She grabs a strand of your hair laying near her hand and twirls the end of it idly. “It was just, very real, and I haven’t felt that scared in a long time. I woke up before anything happened, though, like I was in so much denial I bent my reality around me. It was just, surprising, I suppose.” 

That’s… really vague. But you won’t press her for details - if she wants to tell you she will. It’s possible she’ll speak to you in the morning once the sun starts shining through the curtains and expels the shadows. In the morning, dreams will just be dreams and fade with the sunrise, but till then, the nightmares will still linger in the dark corners of the room. 

The room is almost completely dark and you can hardly see even with your eyes adjusted. The only light comes from blinking electronics around the room, like the TV, laptops, and clock. You tend to cover the windows and block out as much light as you can - consequences of living underground for so many years you guess. 

You move a hand from her back and run it down her scarred arm till your fingers intertwine with hers. You hate the bumps of scar tissue incised into her arms, but you’ve grown used to the feeling. They’re all old, and that’s all that matters to you. It’s been a couple months since her last relapse, and you’re not certain she won’t do it again, but it’s becoming few and far between, which is all you can ask for. 

“I wish I could control my dreams that much,” you admit, “but I’m glad you were able to wake yourself. I love you, I hope you know that.”

She chuckles lightly, “I know. I love you too, silly.” 

You let out a soft breath onto her hair and breathe in her scent. She presses her head up under your chin and buries her face into your neck. 

“Are you going to be able to fall asleep again?” you murmur, eyes closed.

“I think so. We’ll see. If not I’ll just go on my phone. I’m not bothering you, am I?” 

“No, no, you’re fine.”

“I know you probably want to go back to sleep. You sure you don’t mind me cuddling you?”

“Not at all, dummy,” you say and squeeze her in a tight hug till she squeaks out. “I like snuggling you.”

“I know,” she yawns, “just making sure.”

One of your favorite things to do with Charlie is to just lay with her and snuggle till you fall asleep. She makes you feel so comfortable, so complete. There’s something about sleep that makes you feel vulnerable, but you trust her to be with you. And you like seeing her relaxed and you like listening to her steady heartbeat. And when you wake up, you like the way her frizzy hair is thrown to one side with her whimsical bedhead, and you like how her brown eyes look glossed with sleep. You love quiet mornings where you have nowhere to be and no obligations to fulfill and you can just stare at each other in silence with your arms wrapped loosely around one another. Those moments, you think, are some of your favorites. 

“We should sleep in tomorrow,” you mumble.

“We always sleep in,” Charlie giggles.

“Yeah, well, we should anyways.”

“You can sleep in. I’ll make breakfast. Cereal.”

“Gosh, you’re too kind,” you reply sarcastically. 

There’s another lull in the conversation. You’re unsure whether or not it’ll pick up again. It’s pointless to say goodnight, because you’re never sure when you’ll stop conversing. Any talk is usually spare thoughts still running around your mind from the day. The two of you trail off when you’re on the verge of sleep, but you don’t mind, and truthfully you usually don’t notice. 

“Hey,” Charlie disturbs the silence with a whisper.

“Mmmmm?” you make yourself sound through your drowsiness. 

“Thank you, Elizabeth.”

“For what?” you ask, then realize a second later she means comforting her after her nightmare. You’re processing speed is lagging right now.

“Being there for me.”

“I’ll always be there for you,” you say without a second thought. It rolls off your tongue so easily in spite of your fatigue. There’s no doubt in your mind that you would do anything for this girl. Charlie lets out a shaky, but content breath. You rub your thumb over her hand. No, there’s no doubt. Being with her makes you feel secure. It’s something you’ll always have, always be able to lean back on, even if you don’t need it. You’re not sure you’ve had anyone in your life there for you like she has been. She’s seen your best and worst, and still decided that you’re worth loving, despite everything you’ve done wrong. You can’t believe someone can still smile at you, knowing the weight of your sins, but she _ does _ . You’d drop everything and give the world to her if she asked, but you suppose settling for consoling her through a nightmare will do for tonight.


	5. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassidy's POV. Some extra content to introduce her more.

You jolt awake in your bed. You take a few shaky gasps for breath, and you can feel your whole body sweating. More nightmares. You groan and flip over, putting a pillow over your head. You don’t care enough to get up and take a shower, you just want a good night of sleep. Can’t you go just  _ one _ night without nightmares? It’s getting annoying. You’re not sure why you get them. Trauma who?

Something presses lightly down onto the bed next to you. Normally you’d jump, or punch whatever it is, but you find yourself unafraid. You peek out from your pillow to see a big black nose and soft, yellow eyes glowing in front of you. 

“What do you want?” you huff.

Mangle blinks and wags their choppy tail. 

“Yeah, yeah, get up here,” you say and pat the bed next to you.

The goldendoodle seems to smile, and jumps up to join you. They step on you as they pass over you, not seeming to care where they put their paws, and walk in circles at your side till they ungracefully fall into a pile next to you. You run your hand through their curly fur.

“Good dog.”


End file.
